


3 AM

by DevBasaa



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 08:05:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2341133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevBasaa/pseuds/DevBasaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after ‘Winter Soldier’, Steve considers it his duty to be there when Bucky wakes with nightmares. It takes him a little bit longer to realize why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	3 AM

**Author's Note:**

> Something small and intimate, inspired by a fanart that I swear I can’t find anywhere now (dammit!). I started this as a free-write while trying to write in a Starbucks. Yes, a Starbucks. Take that as you will.

~*~

Steve wasn’t a stranger to 3am. He thought maybe he’d seen this hour more than he’d seen any other. Certainly more than noon. If he saw 8 am, it was on the other side of a long night as opposed to an early morning.

But 3am, he knew well. Whether as a young lad up late studying, or struggling with a bad chest cold, coughing and hacking and fitful with fever. Or as a commander of his own team, pouring over maps and broken code and planning the next day’s attack, Steve felt terribly familiar with 3am.

“Aren’t you sleepy?”

Steve shook his head and shrugged. “Naw, I like the night. Sometimes I think I’ve gotten the most things done in the night.”

Bucky had propped pillows behind himself and sat up in his bed. Steve lay sprawled at his feet, staring at the ceiling, his head pillowed in his hands. He liked the feel of Bucky’s toes tucked under his back; it reminded him of Brooklyn and sleepovers when they were young.

Steve hoped it reminded Bucky of those things as well.

It’d become a vigil for Steve, waiting for Bucky to sleep, then waiting for the nightmares to begin so he could be there to rouse Bucky from his terrors and chase away the demons with his presence. Bucky had told him that he remembered Steve by instinct, that he felt familiar and had a sense of “rightness” when Steve was near. He didn’t recall much more than that, however. As Bucky said, he hadn’t put any pieces of his puzzled mind together, yet. But each glimpse of memory, even small, felt hopeful to Steve.

Almost with a start, Steve realized Bucky stared him, wide-eyed. A lock of hair had flopped across Bucky’s eye, but he didn’t flinch; he seemed transfixed with Steve.

Steve levered himself up on his elbows. “What?”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Every once in a while, I have this intense realization that something you’ve said or done...that it’s not the first time I’ve seen or heard it.” With a sigh, Bucky relaxed further against the pillows, looking at Steve again. “For so long, nothing seemed familiar. This is a new and odd experience.”

“You mean, like deja-vu?”

Bucky shook his head, slowly. “No. Like memory. I haven’t remembered anything for so long, it feels strange when I do.”

When Bucky said things like that, Steve swore bits of his heart broke off and tumbled into in his stomach, building a knot. He felt his face twist with the pain. “God, Bucky—“

“Please don’t.”

Steve learned fast that Bucky didn’t appreciate the pity, but that was a hard thing to turn off when you watched your best friend struggle to know even the simplest thing about himself. With a sigh, Steve lay back down at Bucky’s feet and tried not to think about what amnesia must feel like, how foreign most days must seem.

He considered asking Bucky to wiggle his toes because that’s what he’d always done when Steve came over to Bucky’s family’s tenement and flopped over Bucky’s feet when he sat up in bed to study. But then Steve figured that was more a memory for himself than for Bucky.

So he considered something that might be important for them both.

Steve rolled onto his hands and knees and climbed up the bed until he sat beside Bucky, on his right side. Bucky watched him as if witnessing the most curious act a man could do, as if he couldn’t begin to reason why Steve would climb up to sit beside him.

Then, making the act as deliberate as possible, Steve took Bucky’s flesh hand, threaded their fingers together, squeezed and laid their joined hands against his thigh. 

Bucky’s eyes widen, staring at their hands.

“How does this feel?”

Bucky parted his lips, but he stayed silent for a long moment, his brow furrowing before he looked up at Steve and said, “We’ve done this before.”

Steve nodded.

Bucky shook his head, again, frowning. “You’re familiar, yet you’re not. I know you, then I don’t.” He glanced at their joined hands again. “Did we do more than this?”

Steve couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. Did they do more? There were kisses in their youth and mutual jerks in their late teens. They enjoyed each other’s bodies the most before the war, after the girls from the dance halls kissed them good night—well, kissed Bucky good night—and they were left to their own, frustrated devices. After they were reunited in the war, the closeness and touching felt good in the face of so much death and destruction. He’d cherished those intimate times the most.

“Yes,” Steve said, “we did more.”

“A lot more?”

Bucky seemed so innocent to Steve just then—though they both knew neither of them were innocent. Lord knows, Bucky could have been having various degrees of relations during his time as a Hydra weapon and assassin. Some of it might not have been of his own consent.

Perhaps there were blessings in not remembering.

But Steve saw their times together—their friendship and intimacies—as beautiful and happy. He’d promised himself not to push too hard, not to force his recollection of their lives onto Bucky. He hoped Bucky would remember those things himself. But what harm did he do in talking about his own memories? They weren’t lies. Bucky had heard enough lies in his expanded lifetime.

“A few more things. We were very close. Some people might say it was just exploration or finding comfort during a war, but—” Steve held his breath a moment. He hadn’t thought of this since... Maybe since before he’d been frozen. At one of their camp sites in the Alps, Bucky—probably thinking Steve was asleep—had kissed his nape then murmured against his skin, “I love you, you big idiot.” It had scared Steve at the time because they’d never said those words to each other.

Steve cleared his throat and continued. “But I got the feeling you didn’t see it that way.”

“Did you?”

Steve wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t given it enough thought back in those days. Their intimacies had been something they did and liked, but until Steve heard Bucky say those words, he hadn’t considered the implications. And he never had the chance to consider it further. Within days of that night, Bucky was “dead” and within the next two weeks, so was Steve.

At least, for all intents and purposes

“I don’t know. It was 70 years ago, yet it wasn’t. It’s been 3 years, tops, for me. People treat me like I’m old, and I suppose, technically, I am. But I still feel like that young man enamored of his best friend—“ Steve accented his words with another squeeze to Bucky’s hand, “—and trying to decide if he should kiss this great dame he’d just met. I hadn’t figured a lot of things out, yet. And I still haven’t.”

Bucky glanced away, his brow furrowed, a sight that Steve associated with an oncoming recollection. Neither of them could anticipate what might spark a memory.

“Red dress,” Bucky said.

Steve smiled. Yes, it’d be hard to forget Peggy looking so stunning that night in the London pub. “Yes.”

“She was beautiful.” Bucky sounded like himself then, an ease in his speech, adding truth to his memory.

“And smart,” Steve added. “Brave.”

“She’s gone, too,” Bucky said, and he didn’t make it a question.

Steve tipped his head to the side, sagging back against Bucky’s pillows. “Not exactly.”

He looked towards Bucky and saw the uncertainty that answer gave him, but if he had a question about it, he didn’t voice it. Bucky glanced at their hands, then at the end of the bed. He lifted their joined hands slightly. “Maybe you don’t sleep at my feet this time. Maybe you stay right here.”

Steve felt his heart take a few stuttering beats. Though it was true that he hadn’t figured out much about his romantic past, he knew how much he missed his closeness with Bucky. He felt an ache in his chest whenever Bucky looked past him or didn’t choose to sit at his side. Bucky had always sat at his side. 

From the moment Bucky returned to his life, Steve expected to turn and see him there, just as it’d always been. He expected familiar touches, a private, knowing glances or a shared joke. None of that had happened. But Steve knew that was asking a lot, considering how much recovery Bucky still had. He may never remember everything that they’d meant to each other. Steve needed to be prepared for that.

Steve took a deep breath, hoping it might calm his excitement. “If you want. I don’t mind that at all.”

Bucky nodded. “It feels good, having you so close. I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

Steve tried not to feel the pain in that statement, too. Bucky wouldn’t have guessed it because he’d gone so many years without closeness, without affection. Why would he expect it? Steve pushed back the hurt he repeatedly felt on Bucky’s behalf. “Maybe it’s a memory.”

Bucky’s smiles were rare these days, so Steve appreciated them all the more. When a small, but definite smile parted his lips, Steve couldn’t help but return it.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, “maybe it is.”

Steve waited for Bucky to settle himself in the bed, letting him find his comfortable spot. Bucky used to lie on his back with his arms stretched out so that Steve had to fight for his portion of the pillow. He’d shove Bucky’s arm out of the way if he had to, to be comfortable. Even the tight quarters of an army-issue tent hadn’t changed that behavior. So it panged a bit when Bucky curled onto his side, his back to Steve, tucked so that Steve had all the room he could want. 

Steve supposed it didn’t matter. He wasn’t expecting to sleep, but to wait until the nightmares came, just as he had for the last two weeks. It was enough—and important—that Bucky had invited him to lie at his side, that he’d asked for his closeness. Adjusting the pillows to be flatter, Steve lay on his back and chuckled to himself that he missed the feel of Bucky’s feet tucked under his back. He’d come to like lying at the foot of the bed, for as absurd as that might sound to some.

Steve glanced at the bedside clock and waited. Three-forty five AM. Thirty minutes was the longest Bucky could go without a disruption. Steve closed his eyes and listened for that first whimper of nightmares.

Only, when Steve opened his eyes again, he knew he’d been asleep. Sunlight filtered through the blinds and a quick look at the clock proved that morning had arrived, nearly 7 AM.

But the true shock of the moment came with a soft murmuring sound and body warmth that Steve hadn’t felt in a lifetime. Steve looked down, wide-eyed. Bucky had rolled over and tucked himself against Steve’s side. His left arm—his metal arm—he’d draped over Steve’s chest and he pillowed his head at the crook of his shoulder.

“God...” Steve felt dizzy with memory. So many thoughts and images tumbled though his mind. So many things he hadn’t thought of in so long: Bucky, young and handsome, with a scrape on his chin from an earlier alley fight; Bucky asleep, drooling and boneless after a night of too much booze; then bruised and battered, but recovering after his capture by Hydra; Bucky, war-weary and exhausted after a long campaign, asleep against Steve’s arm. Those were just a few blinks of memory; so many more flashed across Steve’s vision.

Had he privately, secretly, watched Bucky that much? 

Bucky’s eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks and his slackened jaw made his lips part as he breathed softly, slowly. He looked beautiful this relaxed, with all those years of tension lost to peaceful sleep. Steve had never considered Bucky beautiful before. Bucky had always been handsome, with smart eyes and a charming grin. All the girls they knew in Brooklyn called him a “dreamboat.” In this moment, though, comfortable and serene, Steve saw his beauty.

Tipping his head, Steve pressed his lips to Bucky’s hair, then breathed in the scent of balsam left from his earlier shower. He sighed against Bucky’s scalp: Thank God, he’d slept. Finally, true sleep. It would help, wouldn’t it? Help Bucky piece together his mind; help him find himself again. Then Bucky’s hair moved against Steve’s lips and Steve looked up to meet Bucky’s gaze, so close, so intense.

“Steve?”

It wasn’t the right thing to do and he silently warned himself that he might startle Bucky. But he couldn’t help himself. Before him was the face he dreamed about, had watched from afar and then near, had watched even in sleep. He stared deep into the soft blue eyes he recalled from his happiest memories, his most intimate moments in time. He could bend down and kiss the parted mouth of his one-time lover again. How could he stop himself from that? How hadn’t he done it sooner?

Steve leaned into Bucky, bringing his outstretched arm in to cradle his shoulders. He nudged his nose against Bucky’s, silently urging him to tip back his head. He did.

The kiss reminded Steve of their first, hesitant and gentle, then sure and exciting. Just as a young lad, his heart beat raced and his body tingled as their lips parted and tongues touched. It all felt endlessly familiar and wonderful to lose himself in a kiss with Bucky. Like wrapping himself in his mother’s patchwork quilt, warmed from drying on the line. 

It felt like home.

They parted as naturally as they started. Steve studied Bucky’s face for concerning signs Steve had gone too far, too fast: a furrowed brow, wide, alarmed eyes, tautness of his jaw. What he saw instead was sleep-droopy eyes and a small smile.

When Steve spoke, he was surprised by how breathless he sounded. He’d raised his right knee under the blanket to cover his body’s excitement at the kiss. “You all right?”

Bucky glanced away for a moment, thoughtful. “I liked kissing you.”

Steve shrugged one shoulder and grinned. “So I haven’t lost my touch.” He said it as a quip, but he mostly felt relieved that Bucky hadn’t bolted away from him, that he hadn’t just made a grave error in judgment, motivated by sentimentality. And longing.

But then he saw that Bucky frowned, his brow furrowed with recollection and concentration. “No, I mean—I remember.” He looked back up at Steve, his expression relaxing as he spoke. “I remember how much I liked kissing you. I looked forward to it. We didn’t do it all the time.”

Steve paused, taking a moment for his lost breath. Bucky had remembered something about _them_. “No, we didn’t. It was a different era.”

Bucky nodded, distant, still caught in his thoughts. Then he laid his head back down against Steve’s shoulder. “No nightmare.”

“That’s right.” Steve heard the surprise in his own voice. He’d been so excited about the kiss, he hadn’t realized about the lack of disruption. Had their closeness, their intimacy, been what Bucky needed all along?

“Could we sleep like this next time?” Bucky said it so softly, Steve nearly didn’t hear him. It hadn’t been said in a whisper, exactly, but in a tone of worry, that he’d asked too much. 

Steve rubbed Bucky’s back. Of course, Bucky had nothing to fear in that. “I’d like that, Buck. Do you want to try sleeping some more?”

“I think so.”

This time, Steve watched him fall asleep. He saw each inch of his face relax; he saw his breathing even out and slow to deep slumber. Though it was encouraging, Steve doubted the nightmares were gone forever. You couldn’t survive what Bucky experienced without lingering effects. But Steve hoped this meant an end to insomnia. He hoped it meant turning to see his best friend steady at his side again.

He hoped it meant a lot.

Steve thought of that moment again, of the camp site in the Alps, of Bucky’s murmured words against his skin. He thought of a lost chance. Steve tipped his head down and pressed his lips to Bucky’s hair again and sighed.

“Welcome home. I love you, too.”

 

The End


End file.
